All my life I’ve been struggling to answer this question “Who am I?”. Maybe I didn’t know exactly where to start or maybe it’s because of the enemy “fear” that has been bothering me for years. The fear that I’m talking about is basically fear of how the world is going to consume my introduction, and fear of judgement based on this identity that I’ve been denying for years.

Every time this question “Who are you?” arises, I would find myself hiding in a closet. A mysterious feeling that I can’t really explain would immediately attack. All my life I’ve been hiding inside a dark hole of secrets and torture, I couldn’t even find a single escape route.

I remember one day I received this call that nearly changed my life. At first, I wanted to ignore it until I realized it was my mother. All I can remember from that call was her judgement, and all sorts of painful words she could spit out. I was criticized before I could even define who I am to her, she already knew everything and was ready to command me how to change myself. From that day my world suddenly turned into an earth’s shaking crust, even today the words “I never gave birth to a lesbian child” are still stuck within me.

I felt disowned before I could even introduce myself to the world. Anxiety and depression kicked in, all I could see in the mirror was this ugly reflection with hair that looks like dry grass in winter, the reflection that the world is not ready to accept. My diary became the only friend who got me, and was more persevering towards me – there was no judgement whenever I visited her late at night in our own universe of torture and overflowing tears of unappreciation.

My daily prayer became a prayer of request frequently. When others were asking for eternal life, all I asked for was for death to kick in sooner, for I was I tired soul. I won’t lie I’ve drank bottles of pills a couple of times, attempting to end it all, but I guess when God hasn’t opened a gate for you then nobody can.

The problem is that we live in an illiterate society and most people, especially the elders, still lack knowledge about mental illnesses like depression and anxiety. Even though they see all the symptoms in a victim. The first solution to them is that they can pray it away and you’ll wake up the following day free of that demon.

I was lucky I was able to survive the suicide attempt but still the question is, “How many young people out there are unable to escape this?” The death rates are rising rapidly and most of them are through suicide. Depression is real and people need to be educated about it, no sangoma or a pastor can fade it away it requires medical attention.

Literally my life changed the day I lifted my pen and narrated my story on a piece of paper. There was no judgement nor persecution, she really understood me. For the first time in my life I felt alive. Writing my first book titled “my childhood story “was like having my first baby. All this excitement raised even more the day I saw my book published on the FUNDZA website. It has always been my dream to be the voice of billion young people out there who are afraid of revealing themselves to the world because of fear of rejection, discrimination and being disowned by their loved ones and to also raise awareness about the reality of depression. I believe the pen is and will always be mightier than the sword; if I’m to be given this opportunity a million times I’ll tell my story.

This piece was written as part of the Fundza Fellowship Programme.